


The Summer of 1973

by duh_i_read (duh_i_write)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: still_grrr, Ficlet, Gen, Pre-Canon, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-17
Updated: 2010-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duh_i_write/pseuds/duh_i_read
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 1973, Bernard Crowley waited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Summer of 1973

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the community still_grr for Mood Ring May using the prompt black. Ignores any and all comics and novels about Nikki Wood and her watcher, because it's all questionably cannon anyway.

Every night, Crowley waited. Not idly, not when there was work to be done. He sharpened stakes, cleaned his sword and studied the massive map of New York nailed to the wall. He marked his progress with colored pins: black for areas he'd already cleared, red for areas he'd needed to, and sliver for places his slayer had been spotted. He had very little sliver.

Every night, he slipped on his pea coat, checking the stakes and holy water hidden within. It did not cover his scabbard, strapped to his side, but at night, people often mistook him for a navy man, or an actor. Useful lies. He was use to useful lies.

Every night, he walked the streets with purpose. He was no longer afraid of the city, as he once was. Now, he slid into dark alleys like it was his home; he dispatched the vampires and demons he found like one would a rat, with precision and without mercy. 

Every night, he stumbled home, bleeding and flushed from battle. Leaving his sword in the bathtub and his coat over the door, he added new pins to the map. Like a chess game in progress, the map bisected, with the red encroaching the black, the black maintaining  its hold and a few  spots in the center under shifting control. 

Every night, he stood for at the threshold of Nikki's room. Clothes strewn about, an ax leaning against her desk and her slayer's handbook propping up her record player. A box wrapped in simple paper sat in the middle of the bed.

Every night, he offered a few words to whatever deity watched over slayers. He asked for forgiveness to her  for the Cruciamentum. He touched the box that contained his feeble penance, an ink colored coat.

Every night, Crowley waited for his slayer to come home.


End file.
